


shedding my snakeskin (just to spite my heart)

by chocchipkookie



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - Historical, Anal Sex, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood, Blood Drinking, Epistolary, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, Gothic, M/M, Mentions of Starvation, Multi, Polyamory, Porn With Plot, Romance, Self-Acceptance, Self-Hatred, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Telepathy, Trauma, Unreliable Narrator, Vague Victorian setting, Vampires, could you describe this as coming of age ? probs not, probably historically inaccurate medicine practices, slight gore, woohwa as your rich goth vamp advisor couple
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:02:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27424666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chocchipkookie/pseuds/chocchipkookie
Summary: After a mysterious and traumatic experience, San finds himself immortal and thirsting for blood. To protect him and help him navigate his new immortal life, Hongjoong sends him to live with Seonghwa and Wooyoung, in their tower deep within the mountains of the countryside.Fear and delight take up equal parts in San's heart.
Relationships: Choi San/Jung Wooyoung/Park Seonghwa
Comments: 46
Kudos: 132





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *sips tea* HELLO!!!  
> i started writing this around halloween because i have no self control, but also because i've always wanted to write a story like this!! i wanted to try exploring character studying more, plus i love gothic literature, and even tho this idea started out as a gothic vampire pwp (which is still happening) there's just a bit more plot to it!  
> this will probs be 2-3 chapters max!! also, regarding the tags: i'd like to tw but i'm not sure if i've tagged it correctly, so pls tell if you think i've missed anything! there's vague descriptions of illness and mentions of self-starvation (altho its about blood) so if you think this isn't for you then pls don't read!  
> i appreciate comments so much, so pls don't be afraid to tell me your thoughts! this was def more experimenting for me to write, and i'm v v eager to hear what you have to say about it UWU~  
> anyways, enjoy!! <3

The carriage comes to a fast, abrupt halt, dust flying around from the hooves of the horses pulling on it. San holds onto his tuscan leather handbag so as to not jostle it around even further, peeking out of the window to observe his surroundings. Since his train was horribly delayed, they did not take off until the early afternoon hours. The sky was a deep, husky orange when he arrived at the station, purple clouds covering the expanse of the receding sun and casting harsh shadows onto the seemingly endless spreads of forest trees. 

The carriage ride took him through said woods following the setting sun until the lantern hanging from its side was the only source of light illuminating the path. They followed a mostly unpaved road, curling around the edge of the mountain with pine so lush and thick that their branches resembled monstrous arms. The moon remained hidden for the most part, an unseen glow coming from above. 

San can finally see it now: the house he has been brought to is situated at the top of the hill, built on a clearing in the otherwise impenetrable forest. Its architecture resembles nothing he’s ever seen before, even though he prides himself in spending most of his adolescence in a city with contemporary infrastructure and grandiose buildings. It’s by no means big in size, but it more so resembles a tower, with its tall stature and pointy tips near the roof’s edges, with gargoyles and texturous designs curling around the windowsills. Between the carriage and the tower’s entrance is a verdant garden, overgrown rose bushes peeking out from the iron fence that surrounds the property, small specks of crimson red shining underneath the moonlight. The distant, melodic sound of running water indicates that there’s probably a fountain in the garden as well. 

A knock on the door has San snapping out of his thoughts in an instant. He clears his throat and with a shy smile he grabs his leather bag and his typewriter case, holding one in each hand. His driver has already deposited his suitcases and boxes on the ground and is looking at him with an impatient expression, one that vanishes as soon as San tips him with a small pouch of coins. 

Before any one of the two has a chance to act on it, the iron gate opens on its own with a creaking sound. 

The driver turns to look at San with a look of utter disbelief, and San shakes his head, shoulders raised high and eyes wide open. 

The two walk through the garden in silence. There’s a gentle breeze that makes the leaves rustle, sounding almost like faint human whispers. The fountain San suspected would be there is indeed situated in the middle of the yard; it’s sculpted marble, depicting three young figures of no discernable gender, with magical attributes such as horns and wings sprouting from their backs, still in motion as if they’ve been dancing. They hold vases from which the running water pours out, moss attached to their marble brims. 

“My work ends here,” the driver mumbles to San, not daring to look at him when his suitcases have finally been deposited in front of the entrance. He’s sweating, he smells like  _ fear,  _ and San is mortified with himself for recognizing what terror smells like as it seeps through human skin and bones. He swallows. 

San watches as the driver walks hurriedly to his carriage before whipping his horses and setting off, a cloud of dust remaining behind him. The garden is left in silence; some leaves rustle as the wind tickles them. An owl coos in the distance, invisible, discernible only by the flap of its wings. 

When San turns back around, there’s someone standing at the door. 

The man is taller than him, dressed prim and proper; a white collar shirt with lace details around his throat and wrists, a velvet petticoat on his shoulders buttoned in front of his chest. His raven black hair falls in long, shiny strands in front of his face in a graceful manner, dark eyes peeking through as the moonlight reflects on them. He regards him wordlessly, intensely. 

“Welcome, San. It must have been a long journey, right?” 

“I-” San finally exhales with his chest; only out of muscle memory, and it’s an empty breath of course. He can no longer breathe, like humans do. “Yes, it was. Good evening. You must be Mr. Park-” 

“Seonghwa. No need for formalities from our new resident,” a smile, no more than a delicate upturn of full lips that have a hint of crimson on them. “Let me help you.” The two of them begin bringing the suitcases inside the mansion, allowing San to finally see what the inside of such a peculiar-looking building looks like on the inside. 

The wallpaper is deep vermillion, wooden frames of pre-raphaelite paintings and candelabras attached to the walls, providing much needed illumination that reflects mystically against the golden details of the furniture. An immensely sized chandelier hangs in the middle of the lounge room, its candles flickering with the sudden wind entering from the still open front door. Porcelain vases of fresh roses give the room an earthy, saccharine aroma. San has visited many wealthy estates due to his job, so the excess of the decor isn’t surprising - the ambience does feel darker, however. 

“I’ll show you your room, then you can join us for dinner once you’re settled and ready.” Seonghwa tells him, and they begin to climb the grand, red carpeted staircase which curls around the inside of the tower. His room ends up being on one of the top floors, and he gasps once Seonghwa opens the door. 

It’s such a quaint little space; with a high ceiling and a huge window, San has a perfect view of the expanse of forest that reaches the never-ending horizon, and the starry skies that settle on top of it. His bed is covered in luxurious, silk purple sheets and comfortable pillows, and he can’t help but bounce on the mattress, momentarily forgetting that Seonghwa is still with him. 

“I see you’re enjoying yourself,” Seonghwa chuckles, a gentle sound thrumming from his throat when he sees San attempting to stifle his reactions, “I’m glad you do. I want you to feel happy living here with us. But I’ll leave you alone for now, I’m sure you will want to relax after such a long journey. Behind this door there’s a bathroom all to yourself.” 

With that, Seonghwa lets the last suitcase settle on the floor next to the bed, and spares San one last look, “When you’re finished, find us in the dining hall on the second floor, right underneath your room.” 

The door makes a resounding sound as it closes behind him, and San is left alone once again. 

Some time is spent putting his ironed clothes in hangers inside his closet, organizing his shoes and toiletries and getting his typewriter out of its case. He decides the desk right in front of the window is the perfect spot for it. After all that’s done, he soaks inside the bathtub for a good hour or so, until his face is sweating from the steam, his fingers are prune-ish and there’s a smell of patchouli and plum seeped into his skin. 

Wrapped in a fluffy towel and settled on his bed, he takes out a rope-tied packet of letters and begins sifting through them. 

  
  


_ My dearest San,  _

_ I’ve arranged for you to leave the city in the next couple of days, and have contacted some old friends of mine who will be glad to host you for as long as you need. Before you begin typing your refusal -I know you so well, my dear- I’m telling you that they are aware of your condition. They are fellow bearers of your peculiar nature, so you can rest assured that they will take care of you and keep you safe. I hope that your stay will help you become accustomed to this new reality and you will soon feel better and happier. I will keep sending you letters and come visit you as soon as possible. You are always in my heart, dearest.  _

_ All my love,  _

_ Hongjoong  _

  
  


He’d read that, and all of Hongjoong’s previous letters again and again on the train, tracing the splashes of ink that always appeared because of his friend’s messy and excited handwriting. The prospect of fleeing the city gave him momentary relief once it was announced to him by Hongjoong, over some wine and hushed whispers in his apartment, where he had taken refuge a few days after the  _ incident.  _ The last time he’d seen him was right before he set off for the train station; Hongjoong had kissed his forehead, squeezed his hands in between his own and had told him  _ not to worry, that he would be safe from now on.  _

San doesn’t realize he’s clutching the letter against his chest until there’s a knock on his door. There’s no sound coming from his visitor, only the discreet noise of a paper being passed underneath the door. Hastily, San dresses himself in a light, silk creme shirt that ties with lace in front of his chest and cuffs around his wrists. 

He catches his reflection in the mirror of his vanity; despite his tiring voyage, there are no dark circles to be seen underneath his eyes, only glowing pale skin, almost translucent over the thinnest parts of it. He doesn’t look at himself too often these days, for obvious reasons. 

Picking up the note, he realizes there’s no name to indicate its author, yet the handwriting looks pristine in indigo blue ink. 

_ Wear something comfortable and light _ . 

He wraps a delicate scarf around his neck. 

Clutching the note in his hand, and with new-found determination, he begins making his way towards the dining room. 

When he arrives, after taking some time to admire the lavish paintings and vases decorating the side of the staircase, he’s met with an oak-made table filled with divine-smelling dishes, from roasted meat with fruits to freshly picked vegetables, to soup and charcuterie boards of cheese. There’s variety, but it’s not excessive, and that makes him feel even more welcomed. Food is not a necessity anymore, but its taste is still very much enjoyable; a reminder of his long-lost humanity. 

He’s been too busy to notice anything other than the dinner spread, he realizes so when someone coughs to distract him. 

Seonghwa is sitting on one side of the round table, pristine and well-dressed like before. There’s a napkin attached to the collar of his shirt, and the lights reflecting on him from the burning candelabra make his eyes look like dark pools of molasses. “Hello, San,” he says, voice gentle and amused at San’s expression of awe, “This is Wooyoung. He was a tad occupied when you first arrived.” 

Turning his head to the side, he’s met with the sight of another man. He’s shorter than Seonghwa but with a similar build, wearing an indigo blue ruffled shirt that’s corseted around his middle, accentuating his small waist. He’s standing near the bar of the dining hall, pouring himself a glass of yellowish green liquid. He then places a sugarcube on top of a metal spoon on the rim of the glass, and begins pouring cold water on it from a carafe. 

_ Absinthe.  _

“Welcome to our humble abode, San.” Wooyoung greets him, a cat-like grin on his lips. “Would you like a glass?” 

San stays quiet for a while, unsure of how to respond. He’s never dared to drink the _ green fairy _ , as the city folk call it; he’s been in the company of writers and poets and dancers of shoddy bars and boîtes, and they would always offer a glass to him. But San visited those places as part of his job, so he was never allowed to indulge in alcohol during these moments. 

He nods. 

Wooyoung makes a tiny, satisfied sound, and begins preparing his drink. 

When San sits down at the table, Seonghwa already has his eyes set on him, “Please, help yourself. I understand that you might not desire meats and vegetables anymore-” 

“The taste remains pleasant,” San insists, whispering his thanks to Wooyoung when the man places the glass in front of him, “I’m very thankful that you took the time to prepare this.” He takes a sip from the light green drink in front of him; its taste is intense, fireworks exploding in his mouth and the strong essence of herbs opening up his nostrils. Instinctively, he looks up at Wooyoung, who’s already smiling at him knowingly. 

“Hongjoong and I have communicated through our letters over the past few years,” Seonghwa says as the three of them dive into their dishes. “He immediately contacted me after your… incident, but I can assure you that he did not share any intimate details. That is for you to disclose to us, if and when you choose to do so.” 

He speaks eloquently, plump lips moving as he articulates his sentences, in a manner that’s almost intoxicating. San does not realize how long he has been staring at his mouth until there’s the slightest grint of sharp, inhuman canines. 

Just like his own. 

“From what I understand,” Seonghwa continues, and San wonders if the man can indeed read his thoughts, or guess them by his reactions, “You still work at the  _ Gazette?” _

“I am on indefinite medical leave,” San explains, “I was told I could continue to write for different columns whenever the opportunity arises, but someone has already replaced me in the investigations.” 

“At least you still have your job,” Wooyoung giggles, chewing on his roast. San’s breath hitches when he catches a glimpse of another pair of fangs, digging into the juicy, slightly red middle of the meat. 

Fear and delight take up equal parts in his heart. 

They fall into tense silence, cutlery clinking against porcelain blending with soft, chewing sounds. San’s taste buds are delighted by the variety of dishes, and even though his hunger for what he truly salivates for is not curbed in the slightest, it lifts his spirits to nourish his now undying body with warmth that is becoming more distant with each passing day. 

“We should talk about how you were turned,” Wooyoung suddenly says, clearing his throat. 

“Wooyoung!” Seonghwa gasps, eyes blown wide, “You’re being extremely rude to our guest. San will talk about it when he feels like it-” 

“He’s a  _ fledgling, _ Hwa, he’s bound to have questions,” the man continues, turning to San, “You must have questions, right?” 

The two begin bickering in front of him and get lost in their own world, as if he isn’t even present. He ignores the annoyance that’s becoming apparent on his brows and instead opts for a pursed-lipped smile, “Indeed, that is why Hongjoong has sent me here,” says San, “As for how I was turned, it happened while I was asleep. I did not realize that I had…  _ died, _ until I woke up again, no longer needing to breathe, my heart no longer pounding like a human’s. At first, I thought I was experiencing high fever symptoms of hallucinations. I did not leave my apartment for days, until Hongjoong showed up and… explained to me what had probably happened.” 

Wooyoung’s gaze narrows, “So you did not wake up during the attack?” 

“No, and I’m thankful for that,” San responds automatically. 

“What do your employers and colleagues know about this?” 

“That I am currently isolating in a sanatorium in the countryside and being treated for  _ consumption.”  _ Seonghwa’s eyebrows shoot up at that, and San can’t help but agree with this reaction. It was Hongjoong’s idea to present his condition as tuberculosis, and although extreme, it assured that no one would approach him in fear of being contaminated. 

And Hongjoong’s diagnosis, coming from a practicing medical examiner, reinforced the credibility of his illness to his employers. 

“I don’t believe that anyone will reach out to me, if that is what you’re worried about,” says San. 

“That wouldn’t have been a problem anyway,” Seonghwa assures him, “And Hongjoong told me he would visit as soon as possible.” 

Wooyoung puts down his knife and fork, his plate almost empty. San tries to hide his surprise; he had been sure that a person of such a peculiar nature would no longer need to eat so much regular food; his own plate isn’t even halfway done, and San already feels nauseous at the thought of more, as much as that pains him to admit. The man cleans his mouth with a napkin and sets his gaze on San once again. 

“Have you fed at all, ever since you were turned?” 

If San could still breathe, his inhale would have been caught in his throat - the ache in his mouth returns, a sort of pain he has become accustomed to in this new life of his. Sharp points dig into his tongue, primal hunger gnawing at him. “No.” 

“I can tell,” Wooyoung says, hand reaching out to touch San’s where it rests on top of the dark indigo tablecloth, but San pulls his hand away before he can find out how Wooyoung’s hand feels on his skin, “You’re starving yourself. I realized it the moment I saw you. San, you need to drink-” 

“Leave me alone!” San puts down his cutlery with a piercing sound, pushing himself into the back of his chair, as if that will shield him from Wooyoung. 

“Fledglings like you need even more blood, San,” Wooyoung insists, concern and worry bleeding into his expression in a manner that makes San want to jump out of his skin, “H-how are you even standing up-” 

“Wooyoung,” Seonghwa grabs onto Wooyoung’s arm, voice low and full of warning, “You’re being rude.” 

But Wooyoung doesn’t stop there, full of determination that has San squirming with an uncomfortable feeling he can’t quite place. He’s only witnessed similar behavior from Hongjoong, but the doctor always knows his place and to not overstep when San isn’t ready to hear it, “San, listen to me. I get that the scent of blood might disgust you, I’ve seen fledglings act like this before, but if you keep this up, soon you won’t be able to get out of bed. You’ll perish out of starvation. A  _ vampire _ like you-” 

“Stop it!” San begs, getting up from his seat. He feels livid, anger and frustration inside of him like a shipwreck getting hit by a tumultuous wave in a seastorm. 

“That’s enough!” Seonghwa yells, voice reverberating in the dining hall. The chandelier sways, candles flickering as if a strong wind has threatened their flame. “I’m terribly sorry, San. Please excuse Wooyoung’s behavior, although his concern is not lost on me. Hongjoong has trusted us with your care, we don’t want you to feel sick when we can help you.” 

San remains silent, arms wrapped around himself in false protection. He keeps staring between the two men, creatures sharing the same cursed nature that he has befallen into. The vampires make no attempt to approach him, and Wooyoung has a look of hurt and deep regret in his eyes, that much San can tell. 

“I’ll be in my room,” he announces, and walks up the staircase without a second look. Exhaustion and starvation take over him halfway up the stairs, and he passes out once he’s in bed into a dreamless, deep sleep, one he wishes he could have experienced without waking up as a monster a few weeks ago. 

  
  


❦

  
  


He wakes up at dawn.

The sun isn’t up yet, but somehow San still wakes up from the faint rays of light coming through the window. There’s dried tears on his cheeks, tears he shed long after he had fallen asleep. At least he can still cry, even if he’s a vampire - how poetic. 

He’s naked from the waist down, but he doesn’t feel the cold anymore. The linen nightshirt that he’s wearing barely covers the tops of his thighs, but he doesn’t put on proper clothes, already sitting down at his desk and approaching his typewriter with eager fingers. 

  
  


_ My dearest Hongjoong,  _

_ My first night at your acquaintances' residence has been nothing short of a disaster. Why did you send me to this place?  _

  
  


San’s fingers pause, his lips trembling. He doesn’t want to be rude in his letter, which is his only form of communication to the one person he holds dear in his heart and the one who has stood by him ever since he came to the city, barefoot and abandoned. But he has so many questions, this rumbling thunder of frustration inside of him that won’t seem to leave him alone. Perhaps writing to Hongjoong during such a state of mind is not the best. 

He looks out the window to the garden that’s shrouded in a cloud of mist and morning dew, a labyrinth of roses and wild-flowers. He wonders if he can get lost in it. 

He decides to seek an answer to his question. 

Throwing on a pair of pants and a wool overcoat, San gets out of his room and walks down the staircase in tentative steps, standing on his tip-toes as to remain silent. Although, thinking about it now, he figures Seonghwa and Wooyoung can easily sense him with their vampiric powers. Probably. He’s not entirely sure, and thinking of asking them gives him nausea.

The cold air feels refreshing against his cheeks, the strong rosy scent pleasant to his nostrils. Despite the fog, San can see his surroundings clearer than he ever has before. San passes by the fountain, where many crows and other birds are drinking water, undisturbed by his presence. A pair of butterflies passes by his ear, startling him only a little, entangled wings flying in tandem. He walks around the twisting paths the trees and the bushes form, finding himself in front of smaller ponds full of floating water lillies and gazebos hidden behind overgrown vineyards. 

He loses himself, walks around for what could be minutes or hours, intoxicated by the tantalizing aroma of the flora. The grass tickles his bare feet and a childish chuckle erupts out of him, one that sounds as if it’s been hidden inside his heart since forever. 

Arriving at one of the ponds, he leans down until his knees touch the ground. He searches for his reflection in the water, a blurry false image. 

He picks at his mouth, stretching out the sides of his lips and exposing the acute points of his canines, a deadly alabaster that feels foreign to him even if it’s now a permanent part of his body. Ever since he was  _ turned, _ as Hongjoong and the vampires have called it numerous times, he’s dared to look at his teeth only a mere amount of times. He’s wondered, of course, how much self-control is left in him until he finally breaks, until the hunger pains that drive him mad at night manifest into something atrocious. 

San slaps himself across the face, wincing at how difficult it’s become to control the alien bursts of strength he has acquired. 

The slap makes his mind feel dizzy, and he belatedly notices that he’s slumped on the grass, weakness taking over his body. He closes his eyes and lets himself fall asleep. 

Later, when his palms and feet have grown muddy and green from rolling around in the grass and napping underneath a shaded canopy of trees, he gets inside the tower once again, a trail of dirt on the carpet following his footfalls. He’s not sure, but he feels more relaxed than before. Perhaps he can continue his letter to Hongjoong. Perhaps he’ll try once again at socializing with his hosts. After all, he doesn’t wish to disrespect them or Hongjoong with his lack of manners. 

He takes a different turn than the one Seonghwa led him from last night, following a corridor on the left side of the building, a faint aroma of bergamot and brewing green tea pulling him towards what San can only assume to be the kitchen. A cup of tea sounds nice; it curbs his hunger, and the scolding heat on his tongue is enough to numb his mouth from salivating everytime he thinks of blood. 

When San enters the kitchen, he finds Wooyoung pouring hot water into a teapot. 

The vampire wears a silk, turmeric yellow robe around his body that’s barely draped over himself; a good portion of his shoulders and decollete area is exposed, toned muscle and delicate bones and sun-kissed, golden skin. There’s a healthy flush that looks unnaturally human on the body of a vampire, a peachy glow that highlights the softest parts of his slender figure. He’s obviously just gotten out of bed, sleepiness evident in his eyes and the lack of coverage in his ensemble. 

“Oh, it’s you.” Wooyoung says, smiling shyly. “I’ve been occupied with brewing tea, would you like to join me for a cup in the garden?” 

San nods, eyes shifting away from Wooyoung and his exposed chest, but not before he catches sight of two small, glistening pink puncture marks on the side of his neck. 

They look fresh, is the thing; dried blood has covered most of the wounds, and the skin around them looks fresh and healing. Compared to the rest of Wooyoung’s exposed body, which lays freckled and smooth without a blemish in sight, the marks seem jarring, out of place. San can’t help the goosebumps that run down his back and thighs, the sore ache in his gums coming back like a piercing needle. He’s so hungry for blood,  _ he aches. _

His body sways, vision blurring, and he holds onto the marble counter to stabilize himself. 

And then, San looks up and sees Wooyoung smirking at him. 

With slitted eyes and an obnoxiously arrogant upturn of his lip, Wooyoung looks as if he knows he’s won. 

As if he knows San is a second away from jumping on him and draining him dry. 

_ “Ah, San! You’re awake!”  _

Seonghwa’s voice sounds distant from the other end of the hallway, but San has already walked back a few steps away from Wooyoung, crossing his hands in front of his chest and digging his nails into his palms, a desperate attempt at self-control. When the other vampire comes in, he’s wearing a similar night-robe to Wooyoung’s, albeit in a way more modest manner that still leaves a portion of his neck uncovered. The silk is midnight blue, with silver thread running through the fabric and creating constellation-like patterns. 

“Good morning,” he offers to Seonghwa, voice dry. 

But Seonghwa smiles at him once again, “I see you already explored the garden a bit,” his gaze shifts at San’s feet and hands, “Come, join us for some morning tea.” 

The two men lead him through the back door of the kitchen into the patio of their backyard. There’s teacups and a variety of refreshments already placed on the table, and once San sits down, Seonghwa pours him a generous cup of Earl Grey, fragrant and steaming. 

“Did you sleep well?” San nods, “San, we apologize for last night. Really, our behavior was inexcusable.” Seonghwa has a soft expression on his face when he says that. 

“But you surely understand,” Wooyoung continues, “That in order for us to live together, and for you to get accustomed to your new way of life, we must meet in the middle.” 

San sips from his tea, lets the scorching liquid burn his tongue, only for it to heal in a matter of seconds. 

“How did you…” he begins with caution, “How were you turned?” 

Seonghwa runs a hand through his messy bed-hair in what one careful observer could recognize as nervousness, “Ah, you’re right. It would be foolish to demand from you to tell us without sharing our own stories.” 

He dumps a few sugarcubes into his cup, and begins, “It must be more than a century now, that I’ve been living this way.” 

San’s porcelain cup trembles in his hold. Ever since Hongjoong broke the news to him about what had happened to him, San has been struggling with the idea of immortal beings existing, and more so them existing since the dawn of humanity. How the passing of time doesn’t affect their bodies, that wounds and sickness matter little to none, and how all of this is achieved by the constant consuming of human blood. 

“I used to be a doctor, in my old life. My family inherited a large fortune from one of our distant relatives, and so I was able to attend a prestigious medical school on the other side of the continent. Institutions like this provide valuable circles of connections, and so, soon after I graduated, I joined a medical society of socialites and scientists, funded by the kingdom itself. 

“We taught students and worked for wealthy nobles investing in medicine, but I always wished we could expand our work and help the common folk, the ones who didn’t live inside the palace walls or had the luxury of joining societies and inheriting fortunes in order to heal themselves and treat their illnesses.” Seonghwa pauses, staring off into the distance. 

“There was only one other person who didn’t treat my opinions on this as a joke. He and I began attending less and less of our lectures; we would instead sneak into a carriage and travel around the countryside near the city, passing by each village and seaking the ill, treating them out of our own pocket and helping women deliver from time to time. The people welcomed us wherever we’d go, barely able to get by but still smiling and thanking us with meals. 

“After a year of this, many doctors had overheard of our ventures to the countryside; they thought we were audacious but had bright minds, that we were wasting the fortunes the nobles were spending on our research.  _ The church would handle the poor, _ they said. That we were tainting the society’s dignity in front of the eyes of the king, and that if this were to happen again we would be swiftly ostracized and banished from the city. 

“Two nights later, him and I took our medical tools and fled the city on our horses. We continued our work like this, always on the move, never staying more than one night in the same village if we weren’t needed. 

“And then, a plague spread across the countryside quicker than wildfire.” 

The vampire pauses, and San holds back his gasp when he sees Wooyoung thread his fingers through Seonghwa’s, cradling his hand and stroking over the skin with the pad of his thumb tenderly. The implications of their touch is making San’s brain go numb. 

“Once it became known,” Seonghwa continues after a gentle sip of tea, “The city closed its gates, quarantining themselves against the looming threat of the sickness that was bringing desperate country folk to their doors, begging for help. We were stuck outside, and we were part of the small minority who could help. There was no explanation for the cause of the illness, or its origin, so all we could do was treat the symptoms and take care of the bodies of the deceased that the villagers would pile up for us to dump in the plague pits. 

“And then, after weeks of no sleep and malnutrition, him and I became infected as well.” 

San fiddles with his fingers, unsure of what to say. 

“I don’t remember much, from that time. From what I was told, we were bedridden for weeks, in and out of sleep, with fever so high it made us delirious and hallucinate. For a few days, the remaining villagers simply stood by our side, unable to treat us with anything since they had run out of any sort of medicine. They were ready to dump us into the pit while we were still alive, but then — a woman showed up. 

“She lived outside of the village, somewhere secluded, but she was sure she could help us; she explained it quite hurriedly, and through my near delusional state of mind I didn’t quite understand what I was agreeing to. But of course, according to her, we would not suffer anymore. And that’s what I wanted. I wanted the pain to stop so I could go back to work and help heal others, I couldn’t stand being useless. 

“So, she bit into my neck while I was burning with fever, and drank my blood as I slowly wasted away. And before I could take my last, torturous breath, she pressed her bleeding wrist into my mouth. 

“I felt myself die. And then I woke up, and the pain was gone. And I was now immortal.” 

Wooyoung squeezes Seonghwa’s hand once again, and Seonghwa promptly finishes his tea, a forced, pursed smile on his lips. 

“I’m sorry.” San finds himself saying, but the words sound void when he says them, despite the turmoil of emotions inside of him. It’s somehow too much, and his mouth produces too little. “How did you feel, when you woke up? Did you realize…”

“That I was a vampire? Not at first. I had heard of tales and legends, speaking of creatures like us, but being a man of science I had rejected the mere notion of something like that existing. Terribly ironic,” Seonghwa finally breaks into a chuckle, and San can’t contain himself and smiles too; it’s tiny and shy, but the moment Wooyoung catches sight of it he positively  _ beams.  _

The weight of Seonghwa’s confession renders the three of them silent for the rest of their breakfast. San keeps thumbing over the rim of his now empty cup, and his mouth feels way too bitter for him to want anymore tea. With how much has happened over the last few hours, he feels like he’s lived in this tower for months, but the place still seems foreign to him. Perhaps he’s the one who’s foreign to this tower; the house stands guarded towards him, walls cold and sheets too crisp. As if it doesn’t trust  _ him  _ yet. He’s tip-toeing, blindfolded, avoiding glass shards on the floor with only his instinct as his guide. 

While San stares off into the distance, Seonghwa places a blood-filled glass right in front of him. 

The smell hits the young fledgling’s nostrils instantly; phantom bile rises up at his throat at the same time that his hunger blooms inside of him, an ugly thing that scrapes at his throat. San panics and slaps his hands over his mouth, pressing back against his chair in an attempt to halt his natural reaction. 

“I’m sorry,” Seonghwa tells him, and he truly looks apologetic, yet he pushes the glass towards San once more. “From what you’ve told us, it’s been almost three weeks since you were turned. If you keep this up, you’ll  _ die _ San. And you won’t be coming back this time.” 

Tears fill San’s eyes, and his hiccupy sob sounds muffled behind his hands as he realizes that perhaps  _ that’s  _ what he truly wants; to sleep an endless sleep, to be released from this suffering that has overtaken his mind, body and soul. Death is the scariest thing he’s ever experienced, however, and his body trembles and shakes with terror at the thought of ever feeling his life being drained out of his body once again. 

San’s voice is a ghost, “N-no.” 

“San, please,” Seonghwa begs with his star-filled eyes. 

“D-don’t make me drink this,” San cries, “Who’s blood even is this? Who did you kill? I won’t become a  _ monster- _ ” 

“No one has been  _ killed, _ San,” Wooyoung points out with a tone that sounds tragically comical. He gets dangerously close, and takes San’s hands into his own, uncovering a pair of parting lips and San’s sharp, thirsty fangs almost bulging out of his mouth. “The blood you’ve been offered is Yunho’s. He’s very much alive, as he’d be happy to announce, but he’s not here at the moment.” 

“Yunho is one of our donors,” Seonghwa explains. His long, pianist fingers stroke over San’s cheekbone, wiping his tears. “He donates some of his blood for our consumption every month, and in return we cover his tuition and living expenses in the nearest town.” 

This onslaught of information is too much for San’s overwhelmed state, “How…” 

“You forget that Seonghwa is a doctor,” Wooyoung reminds him with a prideful smile, “He knows how to operate on Yunho without hurting him.” 

Still, San can’t bring himself to look them in the eye, much less do what they’re asking of him.  _ God, _ he wants to feel it, deep vermillion filling his throat and calming his ache; he doesn’t want to cry anymore, doesn’t want his body to crumble like an aging cathedral, he needs to drink, he  _ wants _ to drink… 

Another sob wrecks through his body,  _ “I can’t, can’t-” _

Seonghwa cups his cheek, silently commanding San to look at him and only him. The vampire shifts his gaze to Wooyoung, then looks back at the broken boy, calm and sure of himself, “Do you want more tea, San?” 

And then San, despite his muddled consciousness, understands what Seonghwa is proposing. 

“Y-yes.” 

Wooyoung’s mouth smells of cinnamon and orange zest as the vampire leans into his ear, “Is this okay, San?” he asks with a honey-like voice, bringing up his hands to cover San’s eyes. And the fledgling nods, stuttering words getting caught in his throat as he opens up his lips, vision nothing but pitch-black bliss. He places his own palms on top of Wooyoung’s, because he needs something to hold onto or he’ll truly break like a fragile, porcelain doll; he feels the ridges and veins of Wooyoung’s hands, how cold and soothing they are on his blazing skin. 

And Wooyoung, understanding, holds onto him tighter, presses his front against San’s back and lets his lips fall on San’s scalp, right on the crown of his head, a macabre blessing for the ritual he’s about to partake in. 

Blinded like this, San can only hear the gurgling liquid as Seonghwa empties the glass into the teacup. 

A hand comes up,  _ Seonghwa’s, _ and cradles his jaw with those long pianist fingers, opening up his mouth even more until a guttural sound is released from San’s throat, fangs bared and seeking, begging for what he’s truly longed for ever since he woke up from the deep wells of death. 

Seonghwa places the rim of the cup right underneath his upper lip and tips it, blood pouring straight onto his tongue mouth. 

The cathedral at the foot of the mountain sounds its bell for the morning mass. A flock of crows jumps out of the trees at the sudden noise, wings flocking in tandem with their resonating caws. 

A tear runs down San’s cheek as he gulps greedily, and his body is finally taken over by utter  _ bliss. _

  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> second chapter is here !! i'm aiming for one more but you never know with me sjnffjdk ANYWAYS i hope you enjoy OWO!! as always, comments are immensely appreciated! let me know what you think <3 n thank you so much for reading !! :3c 
> 
> find me on twitter @milkytae12 !

When San wakes up, it’s just after the sun has gone down. 

His body is surrounded by something soft and malleable; pillows, all around him, silk fabrics and the pleasant aroma of sweet lavender that almost lulls him to sleep again. Moonlight peaks through the curtains around his bed, blue and purple hues and bright starlight peppering the sky. San sighs, stretching out his arms and rubbing his body against the mattress like a cat, still wrapped in his protective veil of drowsiness. Like this, he can hear the distant thunder echoes in the distance and the soft pitter-patter of the rain hitting the windows. 

The gentle thump of a body sitting onto the mattress startles him. 

“Sannie,” a hand reaches out. With eyes still closed, he leans into it like a cat, “Sannie, are you waking up?” 

Wooyoung’s voice. 

With a jerk, San pulls back, pressing into the pillows that surrender quickly behind his back, until they’re squished between him and the headboard. He can see the vampire clearly now, sitting dangerously close to him. Wooyoung’s not wearing his night robe, so he must have been awake for a while now; instead, a peridot-colored flare shirt reflects the light coming from the candle he’s holding. He’s covering it with his palm to protect the flame. 

“Hello there,” Wooyoung says, “I’m sorry if I scared you. You’ve been asleep for a while now, and I wanted to check up on you. Then I saw that you were starting to wake up, and I didn’t want to leave you alone.” 

San gulps. He’s grateful for Wooyoung’s initiative, yet he’s not ready to say those words out loud for now. Instead, he opts for a curt nod, sitting up with a more relaxed stance than before. “How long…”

“A day or so,” San’s eyes bulge out at that. He doesn’t think he’s ever slept for so long. He doesn’t even remember falling asleep. Only the relief he felt once the blood finally touched his tongue, running down his throat like molten lava, igniting fire to his insides. The taste had been sublime, heavenly, blissful and comforting, and for the first time in weeks he truly felt  _ alive. _

He can’t help the hand that comes up to his mouth to cover it, shame taking over. 

“No, Sannie,” Wooyoung tells him, cupping over his palm with his own and gently uncovering his mouth. 

“Why are you calling me that?” 

“What? Oh,” Wooyoung raises his brows, as if he too hadn’t realized the change in San’s name. “I can stop, if you’d like.” 

San doesn’t know how to feel about it, so he lets it go. There’s more pressing matters that occupy his mind, “I don’t remember a lot before I fell asleep. D-did something happen? Did I hurt anyone?” 

Wooyoung sighs, “No, San, you didn’t hurt anyone. You were very emotionally distraught after you finished your glass, and in the end you fell asleep in Seonghwa’s arms as he carried you up to your room.” 

Heat burns in San’s cheeks, and he’s glad the room is dark enough so that his embarrassment isn’t visible; although, he’s not sure he can hide any part of himself from the vampire sitting in front of him, and that’s a terrifying thought. Wooyoung talks to him more, tells him that, once he was done, he broke into tears, incoherent words that Wooyoung and Seonghwa couldn’t decipher easily through his stuttering cries. In the end, he had asked to be left alone, but Seonghwa had offered to help him up to his room, and San had broken into sobs once again. 

“Don’t fret about it,” says Wooyoung, “It’s perfectly fine for fledglings like you to have a visceral reaction the first time they drink blood. Your body craves it so desperately to survive that your emotions are at an all time high. And… knowing now that you hadn’t drank any ever since you were turned…” 

San pouts defensively. He reaches for the blanket around him for protection, but halts when he catches sight of his hands. 

His nails are peculiarly overgrown; granted, ever since he was turned, the matter of his personal appearance has been sensitive to the point of ignorance on his part, but he always takes care of himself in the small ways that matter. And he remembers trimming his nails no more than two days ago, right before he set off on his journey. 

They’re significantly longer, darkening at the tips, a deep onyx color that looks anything but human. He’s not unfamiliar with it; while interviewing soldiers that had come back from the war, their gangrenous body parts possessed the same hue of black. 

“W-what-” he pants, suddenly wishing those fingers weren’t attached to his body, “What is  _ happening _ to me-” 

“Hair and nail growth appears to be consistent in vampires,” Wooyoung explains, although he doesn’t disregard San’s panic. Instead, he sets his candle on the bedside table, approaching the other man until their knees seem to be touching over the blankets. 

“I don’t understand why that is - perhaps the nails could be useful as a weapon when vampires need to hunt, but alas. Some vampires keep them, others trim them, and their hair as well. If you’d like,” Wooyoung takes San’s hand in his, carefully stroking the nervousness away, as if he’s holding a wounded magpie, “I can help you. Trim them, that is. Your hair seems to have gotten longer as well…” 

San reaches at his nape, and indeed, the soft hair curling around his ears seems to be longer than a week ago, if only by a centimetre or so. 

“You can keep them as they are, of course,” Wooyoung says in an assuring tone. “Do however you please. But if you think I can help you in any way, please tell me, San.”

The fledgling gulps. Wooyoung’s touch had felt like a burn to his skin at first, but he’s slowly getting accustomed to his presence and his behavior. The words remain stuck in his throat, yet with great effort, he finally asks, “Please. I don’t-I don’t like my nails like his.”  _ They’re too monstrous _ , he thinks, but doesn’t say so. 

Beaming, Wooyoung helps him get out of bed - he’s thankful that he’s still dressed in his leisure shirt and trousers from last night - and leads them down the corridor, candle in hand. Outside, the wind is howling maniacally, branches swaying and hitting the mansion’s sides and roofs. Bursts of lighting are followed by crackling thunder, and all San can do is stare at the back of Wooyoung’s head as the vampire shows him the way, afraid that if he shifts his gaze anywhere else, the shapeless horrors that lurk in this tower will reveal themselves to him. 

“Where are you taking me?” 

“My bathroom is much more equipped with toiletries,” Wooyoung explains, flare sleeves swaying as he confidently walks through the darkness, “We haven’t toured you around this part of the house either.” 

There’s many parts of this tower that San hasn’t seen yet; if he is to stay here for a while, he doesn’t want the house to be a stranger to him. 

At last, they arrive in front of Wooyoung’s personal room, from what San can tell, and the vampire asks him to hold the candle as he slides the double doors open. 

“Huh, Seonghwa must be in his study,” Wooyoung mentions in a nonchalant tone, taking the candle from San’s hand and placing it on one of the bedside tables. 

San furrows his brows at that statement, but his mind is distracted by the novelty of the vampire’s room - it’s bigger than his own, with a double bed surrounded by deep blue hanging curtains and sheets the color of emeralds, paintings in lavish, golden frames decorating the walls. Opposite of the bed sits a vanity decorated with candles, carefully organized cases of jewelry and hairbrushes. Near the window, there is a purple chaise-longue with a leather-bound book open in the middle. The oil lamps provide warm light, contrasting the raging storm outside. 

And San begins to feel at ease. 

Even though he doesn’t wish to be impolite, he can’t help but stare at the shining jewels on Wooyoung’s vanity: there’s earrings made of rose quartz, rows of pearl necklaces, jade, aquamarine, silver rings with encased rubies. It’s a luxurious collection, one that makes San wonder about Wooyoung’s origin. 

He’s deep in thought, eyes locked on a pendant and the deep vermillion stone hanging from it, when Wooyoung’s voice startles him, “Ah, that’s Seonghwa’s! Although, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind you trying it on. He doesn’t always wear jewelry.” 

And that’s the moment that San finally puts two and two together; Wooyoung comforting Seonghwa with touches that were something more than pure politeness,  _ their shared room, the double bed, the vanity, the familiarity between the two vampires…  _

“Come with me to the bathroom,” the vampire says before San has any idea of how or if he should articulate his thoughts regarding their relationship. 

Wooyoung makes him sit at an ottoman in front of a marble sink; San takes a look at his reflection in the mirror. There’s a flush to his skin, peachy and similar to the one he’d seen on Wooyoung in the morning, along with the fresh bite marks on his skin. 

_ The punctures on his neck, could they have come from Seonghwa? _

“May I have your hand?” Wooyoung asks, snapping San out of his panic. He sputters, shaking his hair which indeed does feel longer around his head, and gives the vampire his shaking right palm. He holds onto him steadily as he uses the nail clipper on his nails, that look much more like  _ talons _ , San thinks. He feels instant relief, seeing them go back to normal, seeing them look  _ human _ once again. “You know they’ll grow longer again, soon.” 

“Then you can cut them again for me,” the words escape San before he can help himself, cheeks turning red once he realizes his impolite tone. 

But Wooyoung seems delighted, amused even. A crooked smile forms on his lips, dangerous fangs on display. He chuckles, and remains silent as he finishes using the clipper on his right hand. 

When he picks up San’s left hand, he asks, “Seonghwa told me you’re a journalist. What do you write about?” 

“An  _ investigative _ journalist,” San corrects him, because despite everything else, his pride still shines through, “I write for crime and history columns. Or, I used to. As I am… isolating here, I cannot be sent to crime scenes or talk to the police. From what I was told, I am to continue writing whenever the  _ Gazette _ mails me an assignment for dedicated spreads on history and culture, articles which can be written over a passage of time and do not need to be published immediately.” 

“They must be exceptionally proud of your work then.” 

“Hongjoong intimidated them into keeping me,” San admits, “Had a talk with them about work ethics and my contributions to the paper, how it was imperative that they do not fire me and instead give me incentive and work as I am sent here to  _ heal _ …” 

“How progressive,” the vampire muses. 

“W-wooyoung,” says San, testing the name on his mouth. It’s the first time he’s called him by his name, he now realizes, “How do you know Hongjoong?” 

“I don’t know him all that well. He’s Seonghwa’s friend, but he hasn’t visited us here more than once.”

“Yes, but how-” 

“Perhaps that is a tale that  _ Seonghwa _ can explain in detail,” Wooyoung proposes and gets up, searching through the glass cabinets on top of the mirror, “Hongjoong was the one who reached out to him first, a few years ago. Seonghwa was attending a medical conference in the city, back then. Under a fake name, of course.” 

“And when did he find out what Seonghwa really is?” 

Wooyoung raises his brow at the question, “From what I know, it didn’t take him long. Seonghwa told me that Hongjoong is a bright mind, that he’d heard of him when he was still a student, and Seonghwa felt comfortable enough to discuss with him his true nature. And I trust Seonghwa with that decision-” 

“W-why didn’t he tell  _ me?” _ San suddenly blurts in frustration, pulling back his hand from Wooyoung’s hold. So many thoughts are crowded into his head, questions piling up from the beginning of his new life; throughout this entire ordeal, Hongjoong was the one giving profound answers to his questions, helping him conceal his identity and finding him a refuge in this tower. “Suddenly, Hongjoong knows exactly how to h-help me now that I’ve become this  _ monster, _ he-he has vampire acquaintances that he’s  _ never _ talked to me about - I honestly don’t know what to make of this.” 

The vampire sits opposite of him in silence, nervously playing with his hands, and San cannot blame him. It’s not Wooyoung’s responsibility to explain how Hongjoong had kept so many secrets from him all this time that they’ve been the closest of friends. 

“I don’t believe he hid those things from you to harm you,” he finally says, taking San’s hand in his once again. He takes a metallic tin from one of the glass cabinets which contains a citrusy-smelling balm. Taking a small scoop with his finger, he begins massaging San’s hand with the pomade. “And, from what I’ve heard, Hongjoong is a sensible man. Why would he ever talk to you about vampires existing, when there had never been a reason? Maybe he thought that the truth would scare you. Or that you’d dismiss him. Whatever the case, wasn’t he there when you needed him the most?” 

And San’s heart hurts, because what Wooyoung’s saying is true, yet he cannot get rid of the ache that still burns in his insides, anger and desperation and so many questions starting with _ why.  _

“And Sannie,” that pet name again. San’s hands feel kind of greasy now, but softer than before. His nails are finally trimmed, and for a second, he feels human again. “You’re not a monster. You never were, and you haven’t become a monster, just because this happened to you.” 

The fledgling furrows his brows, mouth opening to argue, but Wooyoung is quicker, “Do you think that I’m a monster? Or that Seonghwa is one?” 

“I don’t know.”  _ I wish I knew. I wish you were one. _

The sad smile that takes over Wooyoung’s face feels like a punch in the gut. “That’s fine, I understand. Perhaps it’s up to us to prove to you that you’re not what you claim to be, Sannie.” 

  
  
  


❦

  
  


A week later, two letters arrive for him. 

One is from his employers at the  _ Gazette:  _ brief wishes for his recovery, and an assignment for an article that is due in a week. The other is from Hongjoong, and he almost drops the envelope when he sees his friend’s characteristically quirky handwriting, ink spillage at the beginning of each word. 

  
  


_ My dearest San,  _

_ I hope this letter finds you in good spirits! Seonghwa reached out to me already and informed me of your arrival, and so I’m happy that things seem to be going well so far for you. Although, if I’m being honest, hearing those words from you would be much preferable. And even though I’ve been occupied with work over the past week, I can finally announce to you that I’ll be arriving at the end of next week to stay for a few days! _

_ I’ve missed you, San. The city hasn’t been the same without you. I know that you must have a lot of questions about the current situation, and I promise you that, once I’m there, we’ll talk about everything. I promise.  _

_ All my love,  _

_ Hongjoong  _

  
  


He clutches the letter to his chest, relief washing over him; deep down, there was always the fear that Hongjoong had sent him here only to never speak to him again, and even though this fear of abandonment is permanently etched with cruelty into his heart, he doesn’t dwell on it for now. 

“I heard your boss reached out,” Seonghwa says, leaning over his shoulder, but San isn’t fazed; he has been getting better at utilizing all the weird, abnormal quirks that come with his newfound nature, one of them being exceptional hearing and sight. Seonghwa was as quiet as a cat, yet San was beginning to pick up the slightest of sounds. “Seems like you have work to do. Would you like me to show you our library? You could do your work in the study to have easier access to the books for research.” 

“Are you sure? I mean-” 

“This is your home now too, San. There’s no room that’s off-limits here.” 

And just like that, the two vampires walk down the grand staircase to the basement - the atmosphere thickens the more they descend. Seonghwa’s voice is mellow and breathy as he rambles on about all the books San can find in there. When the vampire opens the door, San is met with a library that could rival a museum - with shelves so high they seem like they could reach the stars, a ceiling painted in fresco to resemble the night sky, cherubs peeking out of the cotton-like clouds and drops of white paint that create the shapes of constellations. The books are organized neatly in the decimal classification system, leather-bound collections pertaining from astronomy, natural history and culture, to politics, mathematics and botanology. 

Dark, wooden desks are placed parallel to each other in the centre of the room, globes and maps displayed in perfectly good condition. Small items, antique compasses and preserved manuscripts are kept in glass cases, untouchable from the passage of time. 

Perhaps he too, stands encased in this tower of glass. 

This time, he’s too lost in his thoughts to feel Seonghwa reaching for his hand. When he looks up to him, the vampire gives him a curious smile, “Does it rival the collections you’ve seen in the city?” 

San gapes, touching along the spines of the books closest to him, feeling the bumps and the indents of the leather. “This is  _ extraordinary.  _ How did you…” 

Seonghwa walks towards a large plaque that takes up almost the entire south wall of the room, beckoning San to come closer. Once the fledgling finally stands in front of it, he realizes that the plaque is depicting a family tree; branches full of leaves expanding upwards and circling around names and dates, spanning from centuries ago up until this very moment in time. At the top of the tree, the last name is one that he recognizes all too well. The date next to it is from about two centuries ago. 

“This is  _ Wooyoung’s _ family tree?” he gasps. 

Seonghwa’s smile confirms it, “This tower has been in his family’s possession for centuries now. By consequence, this collection of books, maps and manuscripts is the result of years of collecting, preserving and scavenging. There are some additions which I have made ever since moving in, but comparably, it is too little to what was already here.” 

The fledgling stands there in shock. San isn’t sure of how to respond; he assumed from the start that the vampires were not the first owners of the place. That it had perhaps been abandoned before they moved in - or perhaps conquered it after disposing of the owners, however those were dark and scary thoughts he refused to dwell on. If this is Wooyoung’s family residence, what has become to the rest of his kin? 

Wooyoung’s name, being the last at the top of the tree, doesn’t give San’s suppositions much hope. 

“H-how did Wooyoung become a vampire?” 

“I think that is something Wooyoung would prefer to tell you himself.” 

“Then, tell me this: how do you know Hongjoong?” San blurts, and he hopes he doesn’t appear as desperate as he sounds. 

“Ah, San dear…” Seonghwa sighs. “Did he never talk to you about us?” 

“No.” he doesn’t like how Seonghwa’s words seem to be rubbing salt to his wounds. 

“He talked to me about you, a few times,” the vampire admits fondly. “He’s only come here once, while he was on a business trip. Spent only one night here, so he and Wooyoung didn’t have the time to get acquainted well. But him and I have met often enough for me to consider him my friend. Knowing that he trusts us enough to take care of you is an honor. I assume he never talked to you about… us, because I’ve done my best to hide my immortal existence from this world.” 

“Wooyoung told me you still visit medical conferences under a fake name.” 

“That, I do. Not everywhere, however; so long as there are no records that can trace my true identity, I can still work as a doctor.” 

“And how does Hongjoong feel about a  _ vampire _ treating sick humans?” 

“San, Hongjoong has been interested in vampires long before he began studying medicine.” 

San gasps, “What?” he asks, wrapping his arms around himself. The room feels too big, too cold. 

“He was the one who approached me at that conference,” Seonghwa explains. He guides them to sit on one of the desks, opposite of each other. 

“At first, I was horrified. I’d done my best to conceal my name, hide my vampiric nature and make sure no  _ accidents _ would happen. And yet, here comes Hongjoong, questioning me about everything in the calmest, most curious manner. Like I was teaching medicine all over again, only this time _ I _ was the subject of research.” 

In this hidden treasure of a library, San learns that Hongjoong has spent the better part of his studies secretly researching vampirism and its effects on the human body. That he had known of Seonghwa, and of others with the same fate. That he wished to learn more, do research, approach the topic with an open-mind, “Perhaps, he wishes to find the solution to immortality,” Seonghwa jokes. “I’m not sure. What I do know, is that he’s never tried to hurt me. He recognizes that there are vampires, like us, who remain secluded and have never tried to wound or kill humans. And that there are others who do so willingly.” 

“Like the one who attacked me.” San whispers under his breath. 

Warmth suddenly spreads through his entire body as Seonghwa threads their fingers together. His touch is tender, comforting, and the feelings that bloom in San’s heart scare him to his core. 

“Hongjoong has helped me in so many ways, San. He respects me. He doesn’t see me as this killer, this blood-thirsty monster that people might think I am. We trust each other. He vouches for me. Thanks to him, I can finally work and help others again, wherever I can.” 

He remembers Wooyoung’s words; _ “At least you still have your job.”  _

The world hasn’t been kind to him, but it has been crueler to Seonghwa and Wooyoung. 

An uncomfortable feeling lodges itself in San’s throat, as if he’s going to cry. Seonghwa has a look that he’s also seen on Wooyoung; this melancholic, forlorn smile - the only answer to fate’s mysterious and bitter ways. 

“So when he comes here next week, please don’t hold it against him.” 

“I won’t. I promise you, Seonghwa.” 

  
  
  
  


❦

  
  


San spends the next days by dividing his time between work and leisure. He’s never been able to do so - always having worked until he exhausted himself ever since he came to the city. If he wasn’t helping in the printing station, he would be writing. If he wasn’t writing, he would be running around town, collecting evidence and handing out flyers. 

But life in the tower is different: he still spends _ ridiculous _ \- Wooyoung’s words - amounts of time in the library, nose hidden in books, typing away. But he also finds himself wandering around the hallways of the residence, taking walks in the garden and falling asleep on a chaise-longue in the lounge area after reading through a good portion of one of the many mystery novels Seonghwa has recommended to him. 

The two of them make sure to let him have his space, but also can’t help but take care of him silently; when San is eating dinner, something that has become more sparse as the days go by, because he rarely gets an appetite for more than a small plate of food, Wooyoung will place a glass of blood next to him. He doesn’t force him, nor does he stay until San has drunk it. He doesn’t even mention it, and instead lets San nurse his glass all evening. 

The fledgling takes careful, tentative sips, each gulp adding to the simmering heat of his insides. Consuming blood like this has helped immensely; it doesn’t feel overwhelming anymore, nor does it make him nauseous. By the end of the night, San will usually find himself half-asleep on the chaise-longue, with drooping eyelids and flushed cheeks. His body, so warm and alive, burns with a different kind of heat whenever Seonghwa or Wooyoung choose to sit close to him or stroke his head. 

“Feeling good, Sannie?” Wooyoung’s voice is barely a whisper, a breathy caress against his skin. “You’re not scared anymore, I can tell.” 

His hand traces over the freckles of San’s face and neck, and San leans into his hand like a touch-starved cat. 

Physical contact like this has become more than common. At first, San had shied away from leaning into it and had restrained himself - the embarrassment, of how much he yearned to be caressed like this, to feel another’s hands on his skin for comfort and for praise, it was all too much for him to handle, and he’d spent nights in tremors, hugging the sheets, as if they were a valid replacement. 

And now, because of his vampiric abilities, he can  _ hear _ things; moaning and whining and giggling, sounds that manifest into red bite marks and purple hickies all over Seonghwa and Wooyoung’s bodies the next day, when they eat breakfast together. San’s confident in his suspicions; the two vampires have been together in the most intimate way, and although they have not pestered him or mentioned it, they certainly make no efforts to hide it. 

And why should they? Despite their best efforts at convincing him otherwise, San still considers his stay as temporary in this place. This is their home, after all. 

“Your hair’s getting longer,” Seonghwa will say, brushing through the silky black tufts of hair with his fingers. His hand will stay on San’s nape for just a second longer, just enough for San to sigh pleasantly before he can stop himself. And Seonghwa will grin, and press a kiss to the crown of San’s head. 

If hearing the two vampires  _ consummate _ each night wasn’t enough to send San over the edge, then receiving touches like these from them during the day surely is one way to drive him mad with feelings he’s never truly experienced before. 

Now that he knows exactly what their room looks like, it’s difficult to deter his mind from visualizing what he hears when he’s in bed, nails digging into his palms.  _ Wooyoung, with his legs spread on top of those emerald sheets, guttural groans leaving his lips as Seonghwa pleasures him, thrusting into him and sinking his teeth in his neck in an utmost unorthodox fashion _ \- San’s not certain why the two drink from each other, but he’s pretty sure it’s not out of hunger. 

Images like these won’t stop flooding San’s mind, and the fledgling can do little against the incandescent pleasure that urges him to touch himself all over his body, growing nails scratching down his sides, and fangs digging into plumper lip until pulsing, black blood runs down his chin. Experiencing sexual desire as a vampire is a much more fervent, violent sensation than when he was a human. 

Cock lying heavy and leaking against his stomach, it only takes a few strokes until his vivid imagination of Wooyoung and Seonghwa mauling his neck makes him come all over himself and his hands. 

  
  
  


❦

  
  
  


On the day that Hongjoong is supposed to arrive, San spends most of his morning finalizing his article in order to mail it as soon as possible. The two vampires have gotten used to the fickle nature of his work schedule, which is why the fledgling isn’t surprised when none of the two have come to speak to him in hours. 

Overworked but excited at the prospect of meeting his friend again, San finally puts his type-writer aside and begins making his way up the stairs. 

He doesn’t expect to fall upon a sight like  _ this. _

Wooyoung’s nails dig deep into the supple skin of Seonghwa’s thighs, redness blooming around them - the same color on Seonghwa’s cheeks, underneath the running tears, mouth open in a decadent, lascivious ‘O’ shape, pointy fangs peeking under his plump lips. Most of Seonghwa’s body is covered by Wooyoung crouching in front of him, thrusting fervently and folding his lover’s body in half, dragging his cock in and out of him in bursts of passion. 

San stills, as if he’s frozen, goosebumps appearing all over his skin. His hands tremble at his sides, itching to touch and grope and  _ feel. _ His gums are aching as if he hasn’t consumed blood in weeks, only this time, he doesn’t long to satiate his thirst, but to savor the taste. 

Both of them are naked while they fuck, and for a moment San gets lost in the contours of Wooyoung’s back, how his muscles stretch and curl with his movements, the round shape of his ass shakes with each thrust, face hidden in Seonghwa’s neck and teeth sinked into his throat, sucking while letting out obscene whines. 

Suddenly, Seonghwa’s gaze shifts around the room, until it lands on San. 

The fledgling is nothing more than a statue; he’s so afraid that if he makes the slightest move, he will not be able to contain himself. 

Wooyoung thrusts again, particularly deep this time. 

Seonghwa throws his head back, eyes never leaving San, and cries out Wooyoung’s name until his voice gives out. 

San flees the room, turning to the nearest hallway until he’s no longer in their line of vision. His back hits the wall and he slides down to the floor, the insides of his thighs squeezing his leaking cock. 

The two vampires are still going at it and his amorousness finally devours him whole. Without noticing, he’s brought his arm to his teeth, fangs digging into his skin in an attempt to stifle his sobs when he stains his trousers with his come, his blood running down his chin like molasses. 

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> long time no see! this chapter took a bit longer to write, but it's finally here <3 i want to thank you all for following this story and giving kudos and sending comments! it means the world to me and i love and appreciate all of you so damn much ;____; <3<3 
> 
> also, there's def gonna be another chapter in this story from what i've planned, but for the moment i encourage you to enjoy this one and as always, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated! 
> 
> find me on twitter + cc @milkytae12 :D

San finds himself in his room. 

After running away from the ground floor, rushing up the stairs in less-than-elegant fashion, the fledgling locked himself in his room, threw himself on the bed, and coddled his face into the pillow until the poor thing was ripped apart by his hungry, sharp fangs, feathers and fluff flying everywhere. 

He lays there panting, chest rising up and down rapidly with phantom breaths, mouth left open and fangs stained coal black from his vampiric blood. His eyes look around the curtains of his bed, irises getting lost in the colors of the heavy fabrics as Wooyoung and Seonghwa come to mind once again - their bodies, sculpted marble, joined together in one final breath of ecstacy. When San gets up, it takes every part of his willpower for him to avoid crashing his body into the wall just to  _ feel _ something. 

Instead, he fills the marble tub in his bathroom with scalding hot water and sinks his whole body underneath the surface for hours. 

The two vampires don’t try to reach him this whole time - then again, Seonghwa was the only one who acknowledged his presence in the lounge room. At some point, however, he hears a knock on his door, the sound hollow underneath the water. Splashing about and wrapping a robe around his body, he stands right in front of the entrance, dripping and hesitating. 

_ “San?”  _

_ Oh, Hongjoong. _

Without caring that he’s half-naked, San twists the doorknob with jittery hands and throws himself into Hongjoong’s embrace like an overly excited pet. Relief washes him when Hongjoong laughs, complaining about getting his clothes wet. 

San remembers when Hongjoong had looked at him for the first time after he turned; his expression was one he couldn’t read, and his friend had hesitated for a second before wrapping his arms around a broken, sobbing San. 

That second of hesitation is a scar that will take years to heal in San’s heart. 

“Seonghwa greeted me at the door,” his friend explains as he pulls back to stroke San’s cheek, taking in the fledgling’s pale complexion, “He told me you’d be upstairs, getting ready.” 

“I missed you,” he confesses, not hesitating even for a second. Ever since moving to the city and entering Hongjoong’s life, he’s become all too accustomed to depending on his friend. With his entire life being turned upside down, his trembling hands squeeze at Hongjoong’s shoulders for refuge. “Thank you for coming to see me.” 

“I told you I would as soon as possible,” Hongjoong smiles, expressive brows moving underneath his green beret. “You look better, San dear. Much better than three weeks ago.” 

The fledgling huffs, “I’m dead, Hongjoong. I’m paler than a ghost.” 

_ “Undead,” _ his friend corrects him, “And yes, you’re pale. But you look nourished, stronger. It seems like you’re growing into your new self. Your hosts have been taking good care of you, from what it seems.” 

San allows himself a small, satisfied smile, “Is this the moment where I praise you for being right all along for convincing me to come here?” 

“Oh we both know I’m always right about everything, as empiric evidence proves,” Hongjoong smirks, his sardonic expression dissolving as he ruffles San’s wet hair, “Your hair is getting longer.” 

“Wooyoung said it was an after-effect of vampirism…” 

“He’s right about that.”

“You’d know, I’m sure,” San huffs, but instantly regrets it when he sees Hongjoong’s expression, “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-” 

“There’s nothing to apologize for, San. From what I can tell, you must have realized that I’ve been very  _ secretive _ about certain aspects of my work. And it’s not fair to you. But I hope you understand why I did so. Of course, you have every right to be mad at me-” 

“No, no!” San insists, holding onto Hongjoong’s hands, “Not mad, never mad at you. Simply confused. But it’s a feeling I’ve become accustomed to so many weeks now, I don’t fear it.” 

His friend smiles, “Anything you’re curious about, we can talk. Now that the five of us are here, we can discuss anything that troubles you.” 

He nods, eyes travelling around the room because the promise of Hongjoong’s words and its implications are too much for him, “Wait, five?” 

“Seonghwa told me that one of their human friends is going to be joining us tonight. A student named Yunho. He thought it would be good for me and him to meet, as he often donates his blood for their consumption.” 

San clenches his jaw, goosebumps rising on the skin of his nape. Yunho. The man his vampire hosts mention here and there; he doesn’t know much about him, yet he’s drank his  _ blood. _ His fangs tingle at the memory of the vermillion liquid running down his esophagus, teeth numb from ecstacy at the taste. 

He can feel his lips trembling, “A-are you not scared? Being in a house full of vampires? B-being next to me?” he hates how his voice betrays his true emotions - no matter how much he tries, his fear of being abandoned makes itself known with his every move. 

“Why would I?” Hongjoong says naturally, as if he’s gone over this question a million times, “You don’t scare me, San. You still are my friend, and I still love you.” 

“I could hurt you,” San blurts out, fingers itching at his sides, “I-I’m, I’m not human anymore, Hongjoong. If I were to lose control, I’d-” 

“Well, we’ll simply work on that, yes? Besides, you’d never hurt me on purpose. And that’s all that matters to me.” The fledgling lets himself be coddled, as if he’s once again a child, running around the orphanage and seeking candy. 

“Yeah, we’ll work on it.” 

A knock on the door startles them,  _ “Sannie?” _ Wooyoung’s voice. 

“‘Sannie’?” Hongjoong’s voice has an amused tone to it that makes San burn with embarrassment. His friend opens the door excitedly, “Jung Wooyoung, what a pleasure to see you. Seonghwa is always the one opening the door for me.” 

Wooyoung’s standing at the door frame, golden skin covered by a two-piece cream-colored ensemble, sequins sparkling around the pads of his shoulders and the cuffs of his sleeves. A happy expression blooms on his lips, “Hongjoong, there you are! Seonghwa has a habit of opening the door without alerting me, terribly sorry about that.” 

“Oh, that’s alright,” Hongjoong returns the smile, then speaks to San, “I should let you get dressed. I’ll wait for you in the dining area, alright?” 

San nods silently, “I’ll be right there, once I get dressed.” 

Suddenly, he’s all too aware of the vampire’s eyes on him, tracking the trickling water droplets that run down his clavicle. Hongjoong is in the hallway down, and San knows this because he can hear the almost indiscernible sounds his footfalls make on the carpet, but he remains frozen, rigid underneath Wooyoung’s gaze. “Hongjoong is not going to be our only guest for the night,” he finally breaks the silence, voice neutral like he’s holding back, “Yunho is here as well. I hope you don’t mind, he’s our closest friend.” 

_ Friend? How long have the two of them been isolated in this tower so that their sole companion is a human who also acts as their blood bag?  _

“Of course I don’t mind,” he says.

“He’s also an excellent musician,” Wooyoung continues, slowly approaching San and extending his palm to stroke San’s high cheekbone and the fledgling melts against his palm. “He’ll play music for us. Will you dance with me, San?” 

San gulps. He hadn’t realized he’d brought his hand to press over Wooyoung’s on his cheek, as if he’s afraid the vampire will pull away, “S-shouldn’t you dance with Seonghwa?” he’s not sure if Wooyoung will understand the implications of his question. 

“Seonghwa wants to dance with you, too.” 

A tingling sensation around his ears, “I-” 

“I’m simply quicker at asking,” Wooyoung leans in - a soft kiss to San’s cheek. “I’ll wait for you downstairs. Don’t take too long, alright?” 

Then he’s gone, and San is left clutching his kissed cheek, as if to preserve its memory. 

  
  
  


❦

  
  
  


The garment hadn’t been his to begin with; when San first moved into his abhorrent city apartment that would become his home for the next three years, all he knew about the previous resident was that they had left on a whim, after a fight that had broken out with his landlord. The person hadn’t packed all of their belongings before they had left for good. They never showed up again, and so San was left with handy furniture and a few stray garments in his closets, ones that were soon buried underneath his white collars and the rest of his belongings. 

He never threw them away, either because he forgot or because the fabrics were too expensive to do so; silk and threaded sequins, velvet creases and embroidered collars, clothing he never dared to wear anywhere. He didn’t have time, anyways, since his work occupied him for most of the day, leaving him exhausted and longing for his bed. 

But he’d also been at cabarets and bars, where musicians and poets and artists drink until the morning, where physical attraction knows no limitations to gender and no one shies away from the touch of another - and San had felt most comfortable  _ there, _ even if he only got to visit those places because of his work. At those places, people would wear garments similar to the ones hiding in his closet, colorful pieces that surpassed societal norms and shapes dictated by the advertisements in the press. Secretly, San longed to dress up like them; but only sometimes. 

No longer human but a vampire, the fledgling now stands in front of the closet of his bedroom with newfound determination. When he had hastily packed up his belongings to leave the city for good, he left no trace of his presence in that apartment - which explains the burgundy costume staring back at him, golden details gleaming in the candle light. 

Its shape is nothing like he’s ever seen before, a fit that isn’t particularly made for a man or a woman either. The golden buttons cinch in his waist, corset-like, exposing a good portion of his neck and upper chest. The sleeves puff out right underneath his shoulders, flaring out in curtain-like shapes, almost covering his palms. Its back is similar to the front, the milky area between his shoulder blades exposed. The matching velvet pants fit tight around his legs, with delicate designs at the hips created from golden thread. 

San looks at himself in the mirror and clenches his fists so abruptly that the sharpness of his nails against his skin manages to shock him. He looks  _ nothing _ like himself. His old self, to be particular, nothing like the diligent white collar journalist he tried so hard to be perceived as. This costume resembles the clothes the vampires parade around in; delicate but extravagant, nothing short of ‘decadent’. Like a performer, a shadowy figure that only takes true form beneath the candle light of some dodgy, shady cabaret. 

Near his pale nape, his dark hair, longer and shinier, curls over his skin like serpents. 

_ “Will you dance with me, San?” _

As San descends the staircase to the dining area, a small part of himself considers that he didn’t don this garment just to be asked to dance. Perhaps - and that thought vanishes as soon as it becomes apparent in his mind - he did it for  _ himself. _

The first person he meets is a tall, long-limbed human with a puppy-like aura who already smells like brandy, “Oh!” he says when he bumps into San. 

The fledgling shudders when he senses his pulse, the blood running through his veins so familiar to his tongue - it’s an eerie sensation that terrifies San to no end, a reminder of the monstrous parts of his newfound nature. 

“Hello,” he manages to say, struggling to keep his voice from stuttering. This  _ is _ his home now, and so Yunho is  _ his _ guest as well, “I’m San. We’ve never met before, if I’m correct. I arrived here a few weeks ago, I’m not sure if they mentioned it.” 

It takes the human a second to absorb the information, but once he does, he visibly relaxes. It makes San wonder how comfortable Yunho must be to parade around vampires so nonchalantly that the arrival of a new one isn’t much of a shock. 

“San, yes! Seonghwa mentioned you in one of his letters a month ago, that he was expecting you to move in. Delighted to finally meet you,” he grins, extending his arm and wrapping San in a hug that’s teetering to the point of crushing him. He’s much taller than the fledgling, broad frame towering over him. “Jeong Yunho. Aspiring musician and your hosts’ amicable human friend, two titles I’m very proud to hold.” 

There’s a certain aura about him that relaxes San, a comforting breeze in the summer, “They’ve talked to me about you,” he admits, “You’ve known them for a while, is that right?” 

“A few years, yes. But that’s nothing to your kind’s lifespan,” Yunho giggles, wetting his lips around the brim of his glass. 

San stills, “I-” 

“It’s glaringly obvious that you are a vampire, San,” the human says with ease, “Don’t take any offense to it, of course. But it was apparent the moment you entered the room. I didn’t need to see your fangs to decipher that.” 

“I-is that so?” 

“You exude a similar aura to Seonghwa and Wooyoung. Perhaps that is because they’re the only vampires I know of, and they’re also extremely similar in the way they hold themselves. Intimidating to say the least.” 

_ Intimidating? _ San has never presented himself as such; he couldn’t, really. His workplace never failed to remind him of his responsibilities and his position beneath those who he was supposed to obey. “Say, San,” Yunho speaks again, snapping him out of his thoughts, “We should go join the others in the dining room. I’m already getting a tad tipsy and I’m  _ starving _ .” 

Tonight, the dining table is filled with delicacies and steaming dishes - catering mostly to the two humans joining their immortal company - perfectly aligned, gleaming silverware and fragile crystal glasses containing rich and fruity wine. Although packed to the brim, the table is small enough so that all of them sit closely next to each other, forming a circle. Candelabras are lit around the room, creating a warm ambience that reflects beautifully against the dark green wallpaper and its golden details. Freshly cut roses decorate the empty spaces on the tablecloth, their sweet aroma intermingling with a myriad of different scents that would render anyone other than a vampire dizzy. 

When San enters after Yunho, the vampire duo turns to stare at him instantaneously. 

The two of them are standing near the bar, bodies almost wrapped around each other with how close they are, chest to chest, Seonghwa’s arm lazily holding Wooyoung’s waist as the other carefully pops open the cork of the wine bottle. His mouth is just shy of pressing a kiss to his forehead, lips shaping around whispered affections that San doesn’t have the chance of paying enough attention to eavesdrop. Besides, both of them are gawking at him now, enduringly scanning his appearance from top to bottom. 

The crimson velvet of his garment reflects in the onyx pools of Wooyoung’s eyes, as if they’re set ablaze. 

Wooyoung’s lips part. 

Seonghwa’s hand squeezes around Wooyoung’s waist in reflex, dark veins peeking through stretched, pale skin. 

The fledgling straightens his shoulders. The vampires allow themselves a final look at San’s freckled neck, mirroring each other, before resuming their ministrations and eventually bringing a newly opened bottle of wine to the table, where Yunho has already taken his seat, tucking a napkin around the hem of his moss green shirt. 

“Oh, San,” Hongjoong voice pierces through the tense atmosphere as the human enters the dining area, “This is a beautiful piece of clothing!” 

San feels the flutter of his eyelashes on his cheekbones when he shuts his eyes in embarrassment, “T-thank you, Hongjoong,” he mutters, and finally takes the last empty seat on the table, right in between the humans. 

The way the seating arrangement is laid out, Seonghwa and Wooyoung sit directly opposite of him, next to each other.  _ Like spouses, _ his mind supplies unhelpfully. 

Dinner progresses with natural conversation, or as natural as it can be when it comes to a company of three vampires and two humans who don’t look like they mind being in the presence of blood-thirsty, immortal creatures. Hongjoong and Wooyoung seem to be the ones guiding the conversation, since Seonghwa always manages to stray away from topics knowledgeable to the rest because of his love for medicine. San, on the other hand, prefers listening for now.

He doesn’t give lengthy answers to the questions posed to him, mainly from Yunho, whose excited nature continues to intimidate him. As time passes, however, he finds himself participating in the banter, joking on Hongjoong’s expense and teasing Yunho when the human stumbles over his words drunkenly. Without thinking much, he adds more to Yunho’s plate, a futile attempt to curb the drunken haze that seems to be overtaking the poor human. 

After the table has been emptied and the satisfied expression on Hongjoong and Yunho’s eyes can be seen from miles away like the pulsing light of a lighthouse, the group moves to the lounge area. Hongjoong places a carafe full of brandy on the nearest table, and Yunho jumps excitedly on the nearest chaise-longue, clarifying that he needs some time to digest before he begins playing music for them. 

“We could play a game of chess in the meantime,” Seonghwa offers, “Hongjoong is an avid player, from what I’ve heard.” 

“He is,” San confirms, sighing at the softness of the velvet pillows his body meets as he sits down, “He wouldn’t stop pestering me to play with him-” 

“And you always said no!” Hongjoong pipes in. “You never let me teach you-” 

“It’s a difficult game,” San offers as an excuse, pouting, “Besides, I never had the time to lounge in men’s bars like  _ you _ did.” 

“Rarely do I do that!” Hongjoong laughs, “I’m not interested in spending time with rich snobs and government officials. But it’s extraordinarily fun to beat them at a game they think they can best me at.” 

Him and Seonghwa sit down and begin a game amidst banter and harmless digs towards each other as, one by one, chess pawns move around the board. Yunho yawns, scratching his tummy and shifting on the couch. 

A hand comes up to caress the crown of Yunho’s head, “Surely you’re not getting sleepy on us now,” Wooyoung says in his kind but taunting tone. 

“Mhm, no, I’m good, Wooyoungie...” the human laughs, getting up from his comfortable position and approaching the grand piano in the right corner of the room, fingers tapping the keys before he begins to play a soft, pleasant melody. 

There’s a certain air of domesticity that causes a small yet present thunderstorm in San’s belly at the sight of it - there’s no reason he should be feeling like this, and he refuses to acknowledge it as  _ jealousy. _ Yet he cannot deny that it stings, how comfortable Yunho seems to behave around the two vampires and how at ease he is, walking around the tower - because he’s been here  _ before _ , long before San arrived. He’s probably slept here too, after the vampires treated him with food and drinks and company and then asked politely for his blood. And the fledgling wonders, how do the vampires drink from him?  _ Do they place him on their laps, mouths dangerously hovering over his artery? Do they sprawl him out on their connubial bed, drinking from him in between pleasure and pain?  _

“You smell peculiarly,” San jumps at Wooyoung’s saccharine voice in his ear, “Everything alright, Sannie?” 

The fledgling clenches his jaw instead of responding. He can’t help but notice that for the entirety of their dinner, neither Wooyoung nor Seonghwa spared more than a few glances towards him, as if the all-consuming gaze they gave him when he first entered the room was more than enough for the rest of the evening. 

“Yes, Wooyoungie.” __

The cackle that Wooyoung lets out at San’s biting tone is enough for both Seonghwa and Hongjoong to turn away from their intense game of chess to look at the source of the fox-like noise that shatters the calm ambience. The piano keeps playing, however, so they soon turn back to their competitive bickering. 

“Sannie,” Wooyoung says, voice lower this time, “Are you having fun?” 

“I am,” San admits, shame building on his cheeks at his snappy tone from before, “I’ve never really been to a gathering like this before. Do you hold them often?” He can’t help but ask, trying not to sound too privy or desperate for information. 

“Ah, well,” the vampire sighs, “Seonghwa and I don’t have many friends, unfortunately. You’ll learn with time that most vampires live secluded, alone or in covens. Because of how imperative it is to hide our true nature, we don’t intermingle much in busy cities. Except for raging lunatics who prey on innocent humans like -  _ ah, um-” _

_ Like the one who attacked you. _

“It’s fine,” San assures him, and sees Wooyoung’s razor-sharp jaw unclenching. 

“Right. So, Seonghwa and I rarely enjoyed music like this. But after meeting Yunho, whenever he’d be able to take a carriage from his town, he’d spend a few nights with us and play music for us. I’ve asked him to teach Seonghwa the basics, but even so, it’s difficult to perform a sonata and dance at the same time.” 

“Then, do you two dance?” San can’t help but ask, even though he knows that the more he speaks, the closer he ends to the edge of an imaginary cliff. 

Wooyoung’s eyelids become heavy, crimson pooling in as he nods. “Remember what I asked of you before?” 

“I do.” 

“Will you dance with me, San?” the vampire pleads, hands already itching closer to thread his fingers in between the fledgling’s. 

“Please,” it’s breathless, inaudible, but San knows that Wooyoung has heard him because a hand comes around his waist, tight grip onto the velvet fabric as the vampire pulls him up from the chaise-longue gently, tugging him towards Yunho who’s humming gently to the tune of the piano. 

Wooyoung whispers in Yunho’s ear, and soon the human changes the melody seamlessly, until the pressing keys create the familiar sound of a waltz. 

San keeps his gaze fixed on the honey-gold color of Wooyoung’s throat while an arm wraps around his waist and another holds his own in the appropriate position. The two begin dancing, carefully at first so that San familiarizes himself with the coordinated steps. Yet the fledgling can’t bear to look up, to meet his dance partner’s eyes that are transfixed on him, or to gaze around lest he notices Hongjoong’s reaction to the scene unravelling in front of him. He’s not sure if Hongjoong knows of the vampires’ relationship; judging by their shared past, he most definitely does. 

What does he think of  _ San _ dancing with Wooyoung in this way, then held in a manner akin to a lover at a masquerade? 

“San, look at me, please,” Wooyoung asks gently, but his tone leaves no room for denying. And so San faces him, face full of shame and determination at the same time, “Have you ever danced like this before?” 

“P-perhaps once,” the fledgling whispers. “And you?” 

“When I was human, my family would host ballroom dances every year near the beginning of spring,” the vampire says, “Counts and viscounts and even royals from the palace had visited us once. I’m quite sure I was taught how to dance properly before I was taught how to read by my caretaker.” 

San can’t help but chuckle, envisioning the scene, “Times must have been different, back then.” 

“Things have certainly changed,” Wooyoung sighs, “Seonghwa must have talked to you about my past-” 

“Not much. He wanted you to be the one to tell me. But I did stumble upon your family tree at the library a few days ago.” 

“Mm, yes. I was responsible for continuing the mural as the years passed.” 

“You paint?” San asks. 

Wooyoung gives him a satisfied smirk, twirling him around abruptly at the sound of a playful trickle over the keys from Yunho, “Painting, fencing, dancing… A young count is taught everything from the moment he’s born.” 

“So then… the mural of the starry sky in the library, that’s yours?” 

“Most of the paintings you see around the estate, framed or not, are mine, Sannie. I never showed you the  _ atelier, _ did I?” 

“N-no.” 

“I should take you there sometime tomorrow. Maybe you could try your hand at mixing oil paints.” 

They don’t speak much, after that. Yunho never ceases to play, and of course neither San nor Wooyoung get tired from twirling around the room, holding onto each other tightly while moving in unison. Dancing in silence like this, San can’t help but get lost in Wooyoung’s eyes, diving head-first into the deep onyx pools that hold a century or more in them, a being so much older than he is but nevertheless sharing the same curse as him. He lets himself be guided around the room by the vampire, who’s now holding him flushed against his chest. The hand that holds onto San’s waist traces dangerously close to his naked back, the pad of a finger testing the waters by making circles near the hem of his shirt. Soon enough, when Wooyoung feels San relaxing against him, he moves his hand further up, until he can touch with his palm all over the exposed skin. 

When Yunho finally ceases to play, their noses are just a breath away from touching. 

“Thank you, Sannie,” Wooyoung whispers in his ear. “I hope you’re not tired later - I want to dance with you again.” 

San nods, mind swaying as he finally plops onto the chaise-longue, red wine gurgling as it’s poured into his glass by Hongjoong, “You look like you need a refill,” his friend says. 

“Uh, thank you,” San gulps it down in one go, much to the amusement of his friend, “Did you finish your game?” 

“We’re taking a break. It became a bit too heated,” he gestures towards the small table and the mess of pawns littered on top of its surface. “But you probably didn’t register any of our bickering, with how long you were dancing with Wooyoung.” 

“Hongjoong-” San scrambles to explain, clenching the glass in his fist, “It’s not - Seonghwa and Wooyoung are-” 

“Lovers, yes.” Hongjoong supplies, “What, you think I didn’t know? What kind of friend would I be if I were to send you off to live with two vampires who hate each other's guts?” 

“You say that as if there were any other options…” 

“That doesn’t matter now,” his friend brushes him off, “But to make a point, yes, they’re lovers, I am aware. And they also seem interested in you, from what I can tell,” he studies San’s expression, “Oh don’t tell me you hadn’t noticed, dearest.” 

And the thing is, San wouldn’t consider himself a stranger to carnal pleasure, however that’s not to say that he’s accustomed to it; he knows of the moral codes that society and the elite promote about marriage and love. And he also knows how the  _ real _ people, who don’t hide behind the walls of a palace, live. He’s seen them with his own eyes, living in the slums or the less affluent neighborhoods of the city. He recognizes that these people, due to the fragility of their existence and the long hours they spend working in steaming, grimy factories, come home to their spouses and spend hours making love and relishing in the pleasure that comes with being human. 

He knows of sexual attraction, and of romantic interest. 

He simply fails to understand how that would ever apply to  _ him. _

Before San has a chance to respond to Hongjoong, Seonghwa takes a seat next to him. There’s a slight upturn to his plump lips, and the fledgling can’t help but stare at the elegant and prominent features of his face. “I hope Wooyoung didn’t tire you out completely,” he teases, as if San is still human, “I was hoping you’d dance with me as well,” he proposes, extending his palm and waiting for San’s response. 

As if in a trance, San takes Seonghwa’s hand, sighing when the vampire holds him like Wooyoung did. The height difference makes it so that Seonghwa’s chin nears San’s forehead, dangerously close; he could press a kiss whenever he wishes to. 

This time, San rests his head on Seonghwa’s shoulder, snuggling into his sturdy frame. He peaks at Yunho at the piano, and at Hongjoong, who’s taken a seat next to the human - they’re talking about Hongjoong’s experience with music lessons when he was younger, from what San can hear, laughing and teasing each other with breaths smelling of potent wine. It’s a pleasant sight, one that makes San smile so evidently that Seonghwa tuts in his ear, “They seem to be having fun, right? It’s a good thing they met each other, I believe.” 

“I think so, too,” San agrees. Seonghwa’s voice sounds so deep but comforting in his ear that it almost lulls him to sleep in a hypnotizing manner. 

His eyes meet Wooyoung’s, who’s laying on the chaise-longue as if posing for a painting, long legs splayed out on the pillows, body lithe like a cat’s, a glass of wine in his hand that he sips from lazily as he takes in the scene of Seonghwa and San waltzing. 

“He knows you caught us this afternoon,” Seonghwa suddenly whispers in his ear, and San jerks involuntarily at the same time as Wooyoung smirks at him from across the room - he can hear everything,  _ of course. _ “I told him so.” 

“I-” San gulps, aware of the two pairs of eyes zeroing in on him. He feels preyed upon, so overwhelmed yet unable to react - either to pounce or run away. Instead, he stays in Seonghwa’s arms, following the melody of a song that’s completely contrary to the rhythm of his inner turmoil. “He failed to mention it,” he says in the end, “I’m sorry for intruding-” 

“Is that so?” Seonghwa whispers, his demeanor shifting from gentle and kind to something that teeters on the line of voracious, “Yet we were the ones making love in the common areas.” 

San takes Seonghwa’s words in and considers them, if that’s the case, then Seonghwa’s provocative expression when he met San’s eyes back then wasn’t a spur of the moment reaction. If that’s the case, then surely Wooyoung was all too aware of San running up the stairs from the library, yet he didn’t cease thrusting into his lover with such fervent passion, spreading him open somewhere where San could so easily  _ catch _ them in the act. 

His nails dig so abruptly into the vampire’s hand that he manages to make Seonghwa hiss, a pained expression overtaking his features with a delicious upturn of his brows that reminds him of the statue of a martyr. But the vampire is no saint, because his lips instantly fix into a satisfied grin, fangs on display. “San dear…” 

Relentlessly, San holds onto Seonghwa’s nape tighter, the hand looped around his throat bringing their bodies closer until he’s sure Seonghwa will struggle in order to escape, “Just like you can hear us, at night,” Seonghwa continues, nose bumping into San’s, “We can hear you too, you know.” 

_ “We can hear every breathless whine that leaves your lips, Sannie,” _ Wooyoung’s voice rings in his mind suddenly. 

He snaps his neck around, but Wooyoung’s lips are tightly wrapped around the brim of his glass.  _ “I know you can hear me,” _ the vampire continues in his mind, his eyes staring into San’s immortal soul,  _ “Seonghwa can hear me too. Isn’t that right, dearest?”  _

“Most definitely,” Seonghwa says out loud, “We can hear you moaning our names, smell the spike in your scent whenever you get aroused or aching to sink your teeth into us-” 

“Seonghwa…” the rumble that comes out of San’s mouth is inhuman, a guttural sound that gets lost in the climax of the piano piece Yunho is fervently playing currently. But he knows the vampires hear it - and for the first time in weeks, he can clearly decipher the difference in their scents, from how exacerbated and aroused they both are just by the sight of  _ him. _ “N-not here,” he pleads, but his voice has lost his usual helplessness. It’s a  _ warning, _ this time. 

_ “Afraid you’ll lose control?”  _

_ “Perhaps,”  _ he thinks bitterly, biting back at Wooyoung’s voice in his head. Seonghwa lets out a chuckle at their interaction. 

_ “Would that be so bad?”  _

“Now, Wooyoung,” Seonghwa butts in, nosing into San’s burning cheek like an appeased feline, “We agreed we’d be more careful in our approach.” 

“Your plan of approach included consummating on the couch?” San suddenly spits down, dangerously close to sinking his teeth in Seonghwa’s pale, delicious neck. The vampire jerks, letting out a docile whine that goes straight to San’s cock.  _ “I’m begging you two, please be clear with me,” _ he thinks, nosing into Seonghwa’s cheek.  _ “Do you want me?” _

_ “Desperately.”  _

_ “More than anything else in this cursed world.”  _

_ “So fiercely, it feels like my heart is going to jump out of my chest.”  _

_ “Like I’ve gone mad.”  _

The waltz finally reaches its climax, slamming keys accumulating to crushing musical waves. 

“Then you’ll have me.” San says, out loud this time, sealing his fate. 


End file.
